


No Regrets

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Lust, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 05:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: He's almost annoyed by her shock. She'd thrown herself at him once before, after all, in a pathetic attempt to get her way. He'd been in no mood then, but he is in a mood now and he is a man who gets his way. More than that, he's a man who convinces others that his way is also what they desire.





	No Regrets

Her tears soak his collar. She can't stop crying. She can't even remember the last time she cried like this.

"I'm just tired," she sobs.

"I know," he says. "I know you are. You've done amazing work. You have a right to be tired. Every right."

"Saul," she gasps. She burrows into him. She clutches his shirt and pinches his chest. He winces.

"Yeah, I know. I know," he croons and makes his voice tender. He kisses her forehead. "Do you want more tea? Or can I get you something to eat?"

"No," Carrie heaves a shuddering sigh. "I've caused you enough trouble. Mira seemed angry. Or at least annoyed. Was she angry? I didn't want to cause you trouble, but I knew I had to come."

"You did the right thing coming. Don't worry about Mira. She's here but she's got a foot and a half out the door. She came back after Langley, but we've been in separate bedrooms. We barely talk." He shakes his head and exhales in a scoff. "I'm almost certain there is someone else."

"Fuck, Saul." Carrie pushes off of him for a moment, looks up, considers his face. 

"I said don't worry about it. It is what it is." He shrugs and pulls her back into him. "What do we always say, Carrie?"

"No regrets?"

"That's right." He grumbles. They're on the couch in his study where they took the tea his wife made for them. They should be celebrating, and yet. . .

"It's not a very realistic motto to live by, or so I'm discovering," Carrie says. He grunts in response. "I mean, do you really have no regret whatsoever for leaving me in that hospital? Even now, knowing what it cost me?"

"Carrie," he begins. "You really want me to answer that?"

"Yeah. I do, Saul. I do want you to answer that."

Looking up at the ceiling, he contemplates his next words. "It was a very unfortunate means to a very fortunate end." He rubs circles on her shoulder as if to soften what he's just said. 

"Would it kill you to apologize?"

"Nope," he sighs. "And I am sorry." 

"Hey," she tips her face up, breath scented spearmint and chamomile. He feels her tears warm from her body, then cool from the air, as they evaporate on his skin. He's so glad she's stopped crying, but he wonders why he feels close to it in spite of himself. He looks down into her big, glassy eyes and forces a smile. "Did you miss me? Even a little?" Her words greet his face in heated puffs like vapor out of a saxophone. It's an odd question, even for Carrie. She tosses a leg over his lap like a branch of a tree and all at once she feels closer than ever and strong as steel but more fragile and far away than he can quantify. His mind struggles with the impossibility of it all. It's like trying to keep an eye on a ship that steadily drifts further out to sea.

"Yeah," he manages to whisper into her hair. He inhales the stale oil of her scalp and wonders how long its been since she's had a shower. He contemplates if it would be insulting to offer her a shower, contemplates if he'd be able to manage knowing she was in the shower of his guest room off the downstairs den without sneaking in. . . he nips the fantasy in the proverbial bud. He sucks in his breath and blows it out over the blonde fairy floss that is somehow stuck in his beard. "I missed you alright," he says, only just now realizing the isolation in which he's resided without her by his side.

"You believe me, right? You believe me, Saul?"

"Always," he sighs. He wants to pull her hair back. He wants to kiss her hard. He wants to wrap her hair around his fist, tug her head back and bite her throat. It wouldn't be right, but it wouldn't necessarily be wrong either. He swallows hard. It's a blue song, holding her, here and now, feeling the wetness of her tears on his shoulder, feeling the breath of her on his neck, hearing her voice in his ear. Her wonders if there could be freedom inside of her, for him. She is so hot, so here, so near, so needy. He peppers her face with kisses, convinces himself they can figure out how to forget it all later on. 

His beard tickles and then scratches her face. His glasses are cool on the ridge of her cheek. She utters a small moan as his mouth finds hers. The coarse hairs of his mustache scratch her, but then she feels the almost impossible softness of his tongue sweep over her bottom lip. She jumps back instinctively and searches his face. "What are you doing? What's happening?" Her words come in a heated gulp.

"I'm doing what I want," he grumbles. "No regrets." He's almost annoyed by her shock. She'd thrown herself at him once before, after all, in a pathetic attempt to get her way. He'd been in no mood then, but he is in a mood now and he is a man who gets his way. More than that, he's a man who convinces others that his way is also what they desire. Hastily, he takes his glasses off, folds them and shoves them at an end table. He presses his mouth harder against her and she opens easily for him. Almost too easily. Her tongue searches the satiny sweetness inside his cheek. Her breath catches.

She doesn't love him. She's never loved him. She could never, ever be in love with Saul. No more than he is in love with her. It is not even a ghost of a concept.

But he owns her.

He recruited her. He trained her. He knows her better than anyone. Together they learned the language of laughter at tragedy. It is what they speak. 

His fingers fumble at her neck and she plucks at the buttons on his shirt. Breath coming fast, their lips hover above one another. She finds his lower lip and sucks it until his hand finds the small of her back, under her shirt. He groans at the velvet of her flesh and presses her closer. The jagged rhythm of their breath becomes impossible to follow.

She exhales limply against him. Five hours, she'd said it took her to get to his house. She'd said she'd used every trick in the book to make sure she was not followed. Can it possibly be safe to keep her here? To hold her a bit longer? He feels her exhaustion bicker with his desire. She feels her grief grapple with lust. She looks at him and the unfamiliar wildness of his expression terrifies her. Her heart beats until she is dizzy with the noise and sensation of it. 

She'll give and he will take. It's what they do. It's what they've always done, but they've never done it quite like this before. 

She clears her throat. He doesn't apologize. The moment passes. 

"You can stay here for a while. Get some rest before you head back," Saul mutters. He stands. Carrie nods.

"Thank you," she says and stretches out on the sofa. He pulls an afghan off the back of a nearby chair and gently tosses it over her. Then he walks out of his office and into the dark hall of his own home, trying to teach himself how to forget with every damn step he takes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by the song Lady, by Regina Spektor.


End file.
